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Thursday, January 6, 2011

I have 5 kids.

Yes, thats right, I have 5 kids. I can see your eyebrows go up. I can see all your pre-conceived notions kick in as well as my paranoia, so here we go...
No I'm not Christian. (as a friend once said, Jesus figured into conception only as an expletive)
No I don't home school. (no offense to those who do, but hell, no.)
Yes they all have the same BabyDaddy. (And would it be any of your damned business if they didn't?)
No I don't wear demin skirts, unless the they are short.
I don't have Jesus hair. I have awesome hair.
Yes I know how IT happened.
No I don't think thats funny.
No I didn't use invitro. (And would it be any of your damned business if I did?)
Yes I've heard of overpopulation.
Yes I work. I work and work and work. Plus I have jobs, too.
Here's what I can tell you. I love my kids. I love my husband. I love our small and untidy house that we are slowly adding to until it becomes The Burrow, I don't mind being compared to the Weasley's.
I like to drink. I'd like a drink right now. In fact quite often I would like to be far away from my darling, clever, loud children with a drink. Drunk in a dark bar. Or having sex. Or both. Which could possibly explain the 5 children...
I consider myself lazy, selfish and self centered. And I try to improve on those things although most people don't see that way. Well, they don't see me as lazy, I'm not. I am most certainly both arrogant and extremely insecure and talk to myself, often in the third person.... probably comes from reading too many novels. I yell. I lose my temper. I love frozen pizza and will happily feed it to my kids. And while I am very healthy food conscious, I will bribe my kids with Dum-Dum lollys. No problem.
Being a mother defines almost everything I do. It defines my day and what I wear, it changed the way I write and photograph and speak and, god knows, sleep. It is not kittens and hearts and sweet white haired crumpled faced grannies on Mother's Day cards. It is TigerLove and metaphorical revolvers tucked in the waistband of my skinny jeans(thats right, mama of 5 and I wear skinny jeans), it is wanting to run away to Mexico with either my imaginary love slave Raoul or Jon Stewart (it varies, depending on my mood), it is anger and fatigue and sheer apathy sometimes. It is the most remarkable love, love that is that TigerLove, ferocious and destructive. Love that is the revolver, because yes I will die for them but watch out 'cause I will pull that gun out with a steady hand and steady aim if I need too. They are mine, my blood, my skin, my heart beat to carry, it was my breath that panted to birth them. They are mine to guide and protect. Mine to accept that with every second they change and move away from me til the day they leave my home... but even then, mine in my heart, mine to protect and love and accept until I die and maybe even after.
So yeah I have tattoos and yeah, I like sex and wine and say fuck entirely too much. But I am a good mama. Maybe I don't look the way you think a mama of 5 should look or act or speak. But I am a mama of 5 and I kick some serious child rearing ass.